Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  Erika Fredell had watched him wrestle. Yeah, definitely jazzed.

  He rubbed a towel through his wet hair, then tossed the towel into the hamper outside the shower room, ran a comb through the tangled locks, grabbed his jacket and backpack and shouted a good-bye to the teammates who were still getting dressed. Then he stepped out into the hall.

  Kate was there-but so was Erika. And Allyson, and a few other girls. They stood in a cozy little group, chattering, their voices blending and colliding and rippling over each other. How a bunch of girls could talk simultaneously-and manage to hear what everyone was saying, even as they were talking-was a mystery to him.

  Another mystery was why, when Kate was practically in front of him, his gaze locked onto Erika like a laser sight on a rifle.

  Kate immediately latched onto him, and he slung his arm around her. But his gaze met Erika's and he returned her smile. "That was really interesting," she said.

  "Interesting?" Of all the words he could think of to describe wrestling-hard, aggressive, primitive, sweaty-interesting wouldn't make his top ten. For someone who'd never seen a meet before, though, he supposed it would work. "I hope you're impressed."

  "He's so macho," Kate teased, giving his biceps a squeeze. "Ooh. All man," she said dryly.

  "See? She's impressed," he said to Erika. "You should be impressed, too."

  "I'm impressed." Her smile softened. "Really."

  "Anyone up for pizza?" he asked.

  His friend Will, who wrestled heavyweight, chose that moment to barrel out of the locker room. "I am!" he shouted.

  Fifteen minutes later, six of them were crowded around a table at Village Pizza, divvying up a Sicilian pie. The girls amused Ted as they requested knives and carefully cut the gooey rectangular slabs into smaller pieces for themselves. It took them more time to figure out who would get which fraction of which slice than for him to devour an entire piece by himself.

  "So," Kate said after taking a dainty bite of her sliver, "I think we should all share a limo for the prom."

  Ted grimaced. The prom was a couple of months off. No one wanted to think about it. At least, he didn't want to. Every time he contemplated how much it would cost, he broke out in a cold sweat. He'd have to spend an awful lot of Saturday mornings caddying at the golf club to pay for the tickets, rent a tux, buy flowers, and-crap, cough up big bucks for a limousine. And all for what? To impress Kate? To give her a night she'd never forget?

  For all that money, shouldn't he go to the prom with the girl who held center stage in his imagination?

  That particular girl had no interest in going with him, though, he thought as he glanced across the table at Erika, who was plucking at a long, droopy string of melted mozzarella that had oozed off her portion of pizza. "Do you have to have a boyfriend to go to the prom?" she asked.

  "You don't even have to have a date," Allyson assured her.

  "Because right now, the only guy in my life is Five Star." She grinned in Ted's direction. "That's the horse I ride."

  "Would he fit in a limo?" Will asked.

  "We could hitch a trailer to the rear bumper," she said, still grinning. "I've dated a few horses' asses in my life. I don't see why I can't go to the prom with a horse."

  "Kind of a Catherine the Great thing," Ted ventured.

  Erika eyed him curiously.

  Damn. She didn't know what they said about Catherine the Great? "The Tsarina of Russia. She was supposedly insatiable. Rumor had it she had sex with a horse."

  "She was hot to trot, literally," Will punned as he reached for another slice of pizza.

  "That's about all I remember from European history," Ted said, shrugging apologetically. "Not that it was part of the curriculum. I just heard about it when we were studying Russia."

  "That's disgusting," Kate said, making a face. Erika was laughing, though. He hadn't offended her-and he realized belatedly that he could have, given how into horses she was. But she seemed to think the legend of Catherine the Great was hilarious, which only made him like her even more.

  "I don't want to think about the prom," Allyson declared. "I'll probably have to go with a cousin or something."

  "I'll take you," Will offered.

  Allyson threw back her head and laughed. "I'll go with my cousin."

  Will pretended to be deeply hurt, but he chuckled as he reached for a third slice of pizza. Guys who wrestled heavyweight tended to eat a lot. And Will had to know that Allyson Rhatican would never go to the prom with him. She was one of the most popular girls in the high school. For that matter, Ted was sure she wouldn't have to resign herself to attending the prom with her cousin.

  Unless they had some sort of spectacular falling out, he would go with Kate. Theirs wasn't the love of the century. It wasn't even the love of the high school. But she was attractive and pleasant, and he had faith that they'd experience a natural parting of the ways when she left for college in the fall. He had no idea what he'd be doing, other than earning some money and trying to fig ure out what he wanted to be when he grew up. But he and Kate would go their separate ways, and no one would cry too hard when it was all over.

  He'd better start lining up caddying gigs, though. No one golfed in early March, at least not in northern Jersey. But if he was going to do the prom thing-complete with a freaking rented limo-he was going to need some money. The minute the golf club opened, he'd be there, hustling. He didn't want to miss the big senior-class event.

  After all, if Erika showed up at the prom riding a horse, he sure as hell wanted to be there to see it.

  ERIKA WOUND UP GOING TO THE PROM with Peter, a boy she knew through Allyson. He was nice, he looked less dorky in a tux than most high school boys did, he bought her a delicate orchid corsage, and they traveled to the prom in a limo with Allyson and her date and a few other kids. If Ted and Kate were in another group limo, Erika didn't know.

  It was just as well they weren't in Erika's limo. Ever since she'd attended that wrestling meet a couple of months ago, she'd been more aware of Ted Skala than she ought to be. Her memory was haunted not only by his grace on the mat but by the flinty intensity in his eyes when he'd faced his opponent, the pugnacious tilt to his chin, his entire bearing. His attitude. His body, his strength, his moves, his posture all seemed to be saying, I will win this thing. I will emerge triumphant. I will find the route to success and take it.

  It was an aura of determination and purposefulness she wasn't used to associating with Ted. Most of the time he was funny and full of energy, the kind of guy who greeted life's shadows and dark places with a shrug and a smile. In a school as small as Mendham High, he couldn't hide his mediocre scholastic performance, and he didn't try. He couldn't evade his record of detentions-never for anything awful, but he got himself into minor scrapes fairly consistently and didn't seem to care. As far as Erika could tell, he didn't take anything seriously. He approached life with a carefree spirit, which, to someone like her, who was so serious about her riding, had a certain enviable appeal.

  Except that he clearly did take his wrestling seriously. When he was wrestling, he became someone different. Someone deeper, more complex. Someone she'd been thinking about in ways a girl shouldn't think about a guy who was seeing someone else.

  It was silly. He and Kate had been a couple for a long time. Besides, Erika didn't want a boyfriend. High school was winding down, and when she fantasized about her future, it included learning new things, living in new places, conquering new skills-but not falling in love. Who needed that? It would only get in the way.

  What she felt when she thought about Ted wasn't love. Not even close. But it was ... something.

  She felt it as soon as she and Peter entered the hotel banquet room where the prom was taking place and she spotted Ted standing in a circle of friends near the bar. He didn't look silly in his tux, either. His hair was wild with curls and waves, but from the forehead down, he appeared remarkably presentable. His tux fit well on his lanky frame, emphasizing his long legs and
horizontal shoulders. His tie sat like a symmetrical satin butterfly at the base of his throat. His eyes-the eyes that could harden into ice when he wrestled-were bright with laughter.

  Kate stood beside him, looking gorgeous in a sleek, dark dress. Erika felt unfashionably boring in her pastel-hued gown. It was pretty enough, and her mother and sister had assured her that it made her look slim and willowy. But it wasn't sleek.

  Erika had never compared herself to other girls before, unless they were riders and she was comparing her form to theirs when they jumped. She saw no reason to start comparing now.

  As soon as her group had found an empty table where they could leave their purses and favors, Erika decided she was terribly thirsty. "I'm going to get something to drink."

  "I'll come with you," Peter offered. She smiled and hooked her hand through the bend in his elbow, feeling just the slightest bit debutante-ish as they promenaded across the room to the bar. Its mahogany counter was lined with bottles of water, fruit juice, and assorted sodas.

  She would have felt a lot more sophisticated if she'd been able to ask the bartender for a glass of wine, but obviously that wasn't going to happen at a high school-sponsored event. "I'll have a diet Coke," she requested.

  Peter asked for a ginger ale. Once they had their drinks, they turned from the bar. Ted's eyes met hers, and his smile widened. He raised his glass in a silent toast.

  God, he looked adorable. Something about the contrast between his scruffy hair and his suave tuxedo ignited a warm, tingly sensation in Erika's gut.

  "I've got to say hello to Ted," she said, steering Peter toward the group where Ted was standing. "And Kate," she added, as if acknowledging Ted's girlfriend would make him seem less attractive to her.

  "Hey, Fred," Ted greeted her as she neared him. "Wow, you look great!"

  "You clean up pretty well, too."

  "Rumor has it he even showered," Kate teased, although there was a caustic edge to her voice. Did she mean to imply that he didn't shower often?

  Of course he showered. And Erika was probably just imagining the brittle, slightly bitchy undertone in Kate's voice. "Well," she said amiably. "Here we all are."

  "Adam smuggled in a flask if you want to spike your soda," Ted murmured.

  Peter looked intrigued, but Erika shook her head. "Walking around in these high heels is difficult enough when I'm sober."

  "High heels, huh? Let's see," Ted demanded.

  Erika dutifully inched the hem of her dress up to mid-shin and showed off her strappy metallic-leather sandals with their threeinch heels. Her mother had treated her to a manicure and pedicure that afternoon, and her toes looked daintier and more feminine than they'd ever been before.

  Peter clearly appreciated her feet. "This is like Victorian times," he said. "Ah, for a glimpse of ankle."

  Erika had assumed that, given her gown's spaghetti straps and the daring swoop of its neckline, plenty enough of her skin was exposed, even if the floor-length hem concealed her feet. Victorian the dress was not.

  Across the room, a deejay began spinning tunes. The air smelled of perfume and cologne and the faintly ozone-y scent of industrial air conditioning. The carpet below Erika's polished toenails bore an ugly pattern, mustard and maroon interlocking rectangles.

  "Let's dance," she said to Peter. Near the deejay, the carpet gave way to a parquet dance floor. She'd rather have her pretty feet on that than on the carpet.

  Peter emitted a long-suffering sigh and mumbled, "Okay." Only when they'd reached the dance floor, after stopping en route at their table to stash their drinks, and merged with the dozens of other classmates dancing and singing along with Bon Jovi did she realize the carpet had nothing to do with her desire to cross the room. She'd needed to dance so she wouldn't be standing so close to Ted. She was too conscious of him. Too drawn to him. When she'd shown him her feet, his eyes had narrowed with the same intensity she'd perceived when she'd seen him wrestle, the intensity that seemed to trip a switch inside her.

  Had he been planning to wrestle her to the ground? Pin her? Wrap his legs around hers the way he'd wrapped them around his opponent?

  The idea of Ted Skala pinning her, pressing her shoulders to the floor, straddling her, and gazing down into her face with his dazzling green eyes reignited that tingling sensation low in her belly.

  The crowd swallowed her and Peter up and the music washed over them, twanging guitars, thumping drums, and Jon Bon Jovi's harrowing wail. At the song's chorus, everyone belted out the words-You were born to be my baby.

  We're not babies anymore, Erika thought. They were mere days away from being high school graduates.

  Someone jostled her and she opened her eyes. The dance floor had grown much more crowded, which she kind of liked, actually. She had always felt somewhat like an outsider at Mendham High School, having moved to the town barely two and a half years ago. But right now, surrounded by her classmates, she didn't feel like an outsider. She danced with them, was a part of them, moved in sync with them. Sang Bon Jovi lyrics with them.

  As long as no one stomped on her pedicured feet she'd be fine.

  The song ended and another one began: Bruce Springsteen, Human Touch. Erika briefly wondered whether the deejay intended to play only songs by New Jersey rockers for the entire prom. She started to laugh, and then stopped when she saw Ted out on the floor, separated from her by only a couple of people.

  His gaze met hers and he smiled.

  She smiled back.

  This wasn't good, she thought. She shouldn't take such delight in his smile, in his appreciative gaze. She shouldn't be thinking about whether there was a discreet way to maneuver past the two people who stood between her and Ted, dancing their hearts out. It shouldn't matter to her that he looked cute in a tax. After tonight, she would never see him in formal apparel again, unless they both got invited to a classmate's wedding sometime down the road and he happened to be one of the ushers.

  Ted Skala shouldn't matter to her. But he did.

  Was there some law that said you had to do the prom thing? Had to spend tons of money, dress in a stupid penguin suit with adjustable waistband trousers that didn't quite adjust snugly enough, so you kept feeling as if your pants were going to slide down over your butt? Had to act like you wanted to preserve every precious moment of the night in your mental memory scrapbook? Did they withhold your diploma if you used the wrong fork to eat your salad, assuming you could call a few limp green weeds and a single cherry tomato drowning in oil and vinegar a salad?

  Hell. The prom was fine. Nothing really wrong with it. Nothing wrong with posing for a bunch of photos and chatting politely with Kate's parents-and a few hundred of her closest neighbors, who'd all trooped over to her house to ooh and ahh over how nice the young couple looked. Nothing wrong with sneaking just a few drops ofAdam's vodka into your Coke. You weren't driving. You'd paid all that freaking money for the limo, after all.

  No, the problem wasn't the prom. The problem was that you were standing at a doorway, about to open it and cross the threshold into the next stage of your life, and all you could think of was missed opportunities, things left undone, and the cruel truth that once you exited this room you would never be allowed back into it.

  There were so many things in the room you were leaving that you had never bothered to appreciate. So many knickknacks you'd never stopped to admire, so many leaks around the window you should have taken the time to seal. Maybe you could have learned to sit still more often, and pay attention, and you could have taken proper notes in English instead of drawing caricatures of the teacher. Damned good caricatures, but maybe you could have learned something more important than how to draw a nose so the nostrils didn't look like bullet holes.

  There were people in the room you could have gotten to know better. Friendships that might have gone deeper than the sock-in-thearm how's-it-going? level. Teachers you ignored when they insisted you were smart and ought to apply yourself more.

  Girls you could have d
ated.

  One girl in particular. One girl with long, honey-brown hair and a smile that was both shy and mischievous, and a fantastic figure and, as it turned out, beautiful feet.

  Maybe, when all was said and done, you never could have dated her. But you could have tried. You could have made a move. You could have taken the risk. You'd never been afraid to make a fool of yourself-except with her.

  The prom reminded you that in a few days you were going to walk through that door and leave the first eighteen years of your life behind. And although you would journey forward, see new places, try new things, live your life, and have a damned good time while you were at it, you'd always wonder what might have happened if you'd dared to make a fool of yourself with Erika Fredell.

  Prom night had been fine, Erika supposed. Bland food, tooloud music, a few maudlin speeches that provoked both nostalgic sniffles and raucous jeers, everyone looking just a bit too shiny and only a few girls dissolving into tears in the bathroom. Erika's pedicure had survived a lot of boogying on that crowded dance floor, and her head ached only a little bit from the constant din of rock and hip-hop thumping through the deejay's speakers and people shouting to be heard above the music.

  She hoped with all her heart that prom night wouldn't turn out to have been the best night of her life, however. Because honestly, it wasn't that great.

  The truth was, she was looking forward to the party at Jennifer's house that Laura had told her about much more than she'd looked forward to the prom. Khaki shorts and a camisole top were much more her style than a formal gown, and Teva sandals were a lot kinder to her feet than three-inch heels. Peter would be at the party, but they'd never really been a couple, so he wouldn't expect her to hang out with him. And if the music was too loud, she'd ask Jennifer to turn it down, or go into another room.

  "You're so quiet," Laura said as she drove down a winding road dense with evening shadows. "What's up?"

  "Nothing." Erika sighed. She hated lying to her friend.

  "It's going to be a good party," Laura remarked. "Everyone'll be there. And we're all free now! We've been sprung."